Just One Chance
by icyangelkick
Summary: A few friends an I each getting one district or two will write a story of the journey through the 98th Hunger Games, after the Second Dark Days. Though it's brutal as ever, we will form allies and enemies the same ways. But there's only One chance for success. Just one chance to win. Because before you know it there could be a knife just hurling to your neck.
1. District One Reapings: Volunteers

District 1 Reapings

Katherine J.

_Erie's POV_

Sweat streamed down my pale face, dripping off as I swung the mace across the dummy's abdomen countless times. Stuffing was shredded and flew across the room showing just how strong I was. I flipped the dummy by the tummy, tumbling over while bashing its head with the mace one more time. The power and strength took over my mind. How good it felt to be so ruthless like this…

Just another reaping day.

Finally… I have been training for years. This year, I could finally volunteer! With extra overprotective parents like mine, I've had to watch year after year as little 12-year olds were allowed to volunteer, racing up to the stage on their tiny legs. It's not like they would actually be the first ones there, but jealousness always creeps over me when parents are smiling in their young ones' attempt to volunteer as that year's tribute.

Sometimes, my legs are already outstretched to run forwards, but I just can't. The evil stare my mother can give you will make any monster retreat into a shadowy corner. Maybe she could've won the Hunger Games that way.

Apparently, 16 is the year to volunteer. My mother has been saying that in honor of Katniss Everdeen. Blah! It's the 98th Hunger Games!

That "girl on fire" has started the second Dark Days. If it were me, I would rip that girl to shreds, it's her fault the Games are getting worse and worse, harder and harder.

If 12 was still there, I would kill the girl very quickly. Now District 13 takes their place, since it was recently discovered. Two years ago, the arena was a giant frosted cake of doom that they had set fire to. I wonder if that had any relation with the fact that the so-called "star-crossed lovers from District (BLEH) 12," Hint hint: Frosted cake, fire?

No? Never mind.

Before leaving my personal training room, I take a random necklace out of the jewelry box at a stop in my bedroom. What? We're from District 1… It seems like a very dull necklace, but luckily it was the only thing in that diamonded pink box that held personal value. Towards the center of the simple, stretchy, silvery string was a rock. It was nothing special in its looks. In fact, it was ugly. The orangey color was overwhelming, and friends over would always ask why she had it. The rock did have meaning though. An illegal place now, Lake Erie, was the place where a distant ancestor in District 9 picked up the rock on the day she was chosen to go to the first Hunger Games. She brought it to the arena, and before dying, gave it to my great-grandmother, her ally from District 1. My great-grandmother had won that Games, and decided to pass the rock down through the generations. That's why I was named so. It was passed down through generations, ending with me.

All these thoughts flood into my mind as I walk down he steps to reach my very worried mother. She is cooking something wonderful, cinnamon toasts and apple tarts for breakfast. She must know it's my favorite. She must be trying to persuade me to stay home. No way, mom. Putting on a wide smile, I reach her and lay the necklace in her hand.

"I've turned 16 a few months ago. It's time that I will finally be allowed to volunteer," I smirk. Before my mother can start disproving, I start telling her more, "I just wanted to show you the token I will be bringing to the Arena with me. I will beat everybody else up to the podium first, and will come home victorious. Next time you see me, I will have a crown resting on my head!"

Grabbing a crispy toast that's aroma has wafted through my nose, I go upstairs to put on the reaping dress that I wear every year. By now, by breakfast has crumbled like my mother's own face.

At the reaping, with my hair cascading in tresses of silvery blonde down on my silky pink dress, I search for anyone I recognize in the crowd. I smooth down the flowing skirt in attempt to stop the wolf whistles protruding the boys' mouths in my age group. My only sister, Hiua, who is 18 years old looks as excited as I am to volunteer as tribute. She looks at me with the same bright green daring eyes that I have.

Our Capitol Escort, Leeann, is already reaching into the girls' reaping ball by the time I look up from my sister's scary face. Immediately, my legs are ready to run up to the stage, the adrenaline is already rushing through me. They are already starting to lift up as Leeann's two brightly pink-painted fingernails grasp on to a slip of paper. Maybe it had my name to start with. Then again, maybe not. It goes by much too fast, and immediately, a girl tribute's name is being called out. I think it's Silk, a girl two years younger then me, but I actually get up to the stage before Silk. Silk is looking up at me, and I know she will let me take her place in the games. Her family is one of the richer ones, but our Capitol escort eyes me curiously.

"You're not Silk Scholars, are you?" the crazy woman asked. I mean, look at her, with the freak surgery to her nose. Where was it? I start to gulp, and finger the rock necklace that I have kept in my pocket. The bumps make dents into my skin, massaging them. No, I was not Silk Scholars.

"No, no, but I volunteer!" I choke out. "My name is Erie Couture and I volunteer as your tribute for the 98th annual Hunger Games!" Beaming, I smile. I watch the sadness on my mother's face, what little color it had started with, leaving it.

_Ebony's POV_

One and only President Cresta lays the ever-so detailed crown apon my head. I can practically hear the twinkles of diamond and gold enlaid on top of it, I know that was definitely from District 1. It's velvety, I can feel that on my ears. It comes naturally now to wave out to the crowd without a doubt. They are chanting my name, "Ebony! Ebony!" They love me.

"EBONY!" I wake up staring at my sister, Ivory. Her pale skin is a stark contrast to her raven black, like mine. Her gaze is intense as always, a stormy blue that digs into your soul. She's creepy like that. Yet, her thick hair will fall around her shoulders effortlessly and seems smooth like silk. We don't even own a brush.

Then, Ivory's gaze finally softens as she looks innocently at me, practically waiting for a response.

"What do you want?" Ivory's not much of a talker, but she sits on the edge of my bed patiently waiting. "What?" It's the kind of thing my sister does. She waits for me to realize what she's thinking about.

And then it hits me full blast. I didn't have that dream for no reason. It's the reason why I can smell Ivory's sweat, and the tension coming off of her. It's the reaping day! When I finally say so, she just nods her head and starts to speak. "Please don't volunteer." I knew she would say that.

"I gotta. I'm sorry Ivory. I know you think this is all just a bunch of bogus, but I need to." If he could win, their family wouldn't have to worry with all the hardships they've been handling with. With the last uprising from many districts, the Capital has chosen not to trust almost anyone from the districts. Our district no longer held as many 'fun and games' as before. We aren't trusted. Yet, still with the benefits of starting as a richer District, we've managed to survive longer.

"I'm going to train," I told Ivory, getting up from bed and reaching for the doorknob. I could just imagine it already, taking my favorite sword off the ground at the Cornucopia, immediately taking the head off of some helpless 13-year old girl or something. Ivory tried to stop me, but I was already out the door by the time she's cried out.

After vigorous hours of practicing with the broadsword in the cold, stone basement, I throw on the white dress top in preparation for the Reapings. It's hot, close to the end of summer, and even when I press up against the icy walls for a drink, I'm still sweating.

When I climb up the stairs, Ivory greets me grimly, and starts to shift some of the loose strands of my hair up to one side. Sometimes, those wisps of hair remind me of darkness curling this way and that. It's like it's trying to escape from something I don't know of. I know there's something there that I am questioning, but I can't get at what it its just there.

We walk down to the Clearing in District 1, getting ready for a moment that would change our lives. Now, there is nothing to say. We don't discuss anything as we shuffle down the weathered dirt lanes. Every so often though, Ivory does her little twitch that tells me she's nervous. I know she isn't scared of being picked. Somebody would immediately volunteer, she's scared for me. I feel kinda bad now.

But nonetheless, the thought is already in my head. I could win the Games. I could win, and come back home with the crown on my head, providing all kinds of riches to the District, maybe gaining favor from the Capital once again.

Ivory and I are corralled into the 18-year olds section with the prick of a finger. I stretch my legs in my little spot, getting ready to volunteer like all the others. Little did they know that I would be there first.

Our escort has appeared, lively as ever, and without a nose this year, stands to welcome us. "Hello, girls and boys of District One! Are you ready to rock this new Hunger Games?" A few boys behind me start muttering curses, and making sarcastic compliments about her face. I snicker, but hold my head high to listen.

The girl is chosen, and I almost mistakenly run up there forgetting it was girls' first this year. She is light on her feet and very pale looking. I can just make out blonde curls, and the same guys behind me who made the comment about Leeann wolf-whistle at the pink mini dress.

Right now, I realize that I have to be fast to volunteer, considering how fast this other girl, Erie ran, like a blowing wind. Ivory and I have something to ourselves, we can kind of disappear among crowds. It's not really a power or anything, we just can do it when something interesting is happening. Now while the boys are still yelling and whistling, I slip under the fake leather rope and make my way as close to the stage as possible. Leeann's finger are grasped around a slip of paper, and lifted it as I get on the stage.

She eyes me. "You know? These years just get weirder and weirder. What's your name?" What the hell was she talkin' about? Has she ever looked in a mirror before? The sight is absolutely horrifying. Does she have to breathe through her mouth? Doesn't it hurt to sneeze?

"Ebony Kresh."

"Well then. Let's all put our hands together for this year's tributes, Ebony Kresh, and Erie Couture!" We both hold hands, smile and raise them up together in power as few other people clap for good luck.

It's almost a silent communication, but I can feel these words between our two heads, 'You're a good partner. Too bad I will have to kill you.'


	2. District 2 Reapings: I Must

District 2 Reapings

Ashley H.

_Angel's POV_

I know this today was coming, but I'm not ready. I know I trained since I was four. I can't take it like the rest of District 2. To prove my career-strong-attitude-thing, I know only two words will save me. I volunteer.

Taking a rag and trying to wash a knife is not very easy, especially while in the training room, in the cold. I start to take the battered rag and scrub it even harder. Now my special knife was all clean for the reaping. I just started to notice I wasn't the only one in the training room.

"You'll never make it in the arena, you're too small, and have NO talent except, if you call throwing some little play knives like you're three. I wouldn't even think about volunteering if I were you." Dagger says with a voice as cold as ice. He has a sword in his hand, and looks all sweatyPain shoots through me like a spear. I'm only fifteen, what does he expect me to do?

I can think about today for the rest of my life. My heart is, pounding in my ears like a drum. It's so loud; I can't even hear myself think. I get dressed in the same mint green dress I wear every year that my grandmother had left me before she let go of her life. I slipped on a silver locket that gleams almost unnaturally. An eerie whisper entered my ear and a cold breath pushed against it.

"Please, don't this year, don't. I know you want to prove yourself, but I don't want to lose you."

I look up. I stare at the brown eyes of my mother, tears streaming down her face, her black hair drapes on her shoulders. _I look just like her_; I think as a breath as hot as a fire on the back of my neck. I turn around. It was my younger sister, Star. She gleams at me with fear on her face. I'm not surprised. This is only her second year going to the reaping. I turn around and don't say another word.

We were at the reaping place in the blink of an eye. There was the usual process of pricking fingers, collecting blood, all that stuff. We broke off into the age groups, still with the same people as last year.

Dominique, our Capitol escort finally stared to talk with her Capitol accent, "Welcome, Welcome! The time has come to select one young man and woman to represent District 2 in the 98th annual Hunger Games. So, let's get started! "

Dominique floats her hand above the glass bowl for what seems like forever. All of a sudden, she plunges her hand into the shimmering, crystal bowl. She flicks out a slip, her red fingernails closed around it. It is closed by a thin strip of sleek, black tape. She rips it open eager to see who might die in this disgusting game. Sweat trickled down onto the very tip of my nose, and as it falls to the hot asphalt below my feet, Dominique grew a sly smile.

"Pearl Sheen!" Dominique reads into the microphone.

Pearl's eyes are now wide with fear. I can see her frozen in the crowd, lost for words. She knows I would volunteer for her any day. She's my best friend. Pearl didn't train; she thought she would never get picked. Now look at her. She was stuck, and her only way out was me.

"I-I volunteer!" I say without realizing what I just did.

Everything was silent. I hear Dagger smirk especially loud. I shoot him a dirty look, but he still has an evil look on his face. A peacekeeper tries to push me up on to the stage. I try and hold back, but they are too strong. Dominique held out an evergreen hand with a beam on her face, but I reject it. Her beam quickly faded.

"It seems like we have a volunteer for Pearl!" Dominique shouts with her usual peppy voice.

"What is your name?" Dominique asks with a high pitched voice.

"A-Angel Crest" I stutter into the microphone.

I take one look back to see my family. Their faces are, so dull. I want to take back what I said, but I hold back.

"I have to" I whisper. But I know they can't hear me. The little amount of color, was draining from their faces, and last bit of hope they have, is gone with the wind.

_Dagger's POV_

I trained my whole life for this. I know I will not fail. Victory stamped on my name, and a luscious, gold crown resting on my head. Today is the day, today is the start of my path to victory.

SLASH! BANG! "Another dummy down, one to go!" I have one last training session before the day I've waited for my entire life. Today is the reaping. My blood is pumping so fast, I feel like I'm about to explode. It's so loud that I lost my balance on the beam I was on, and I fell off, missing the large dummy by the tip of my sword. I hit the floor with such force. It knocked the breath out of me. _Today is the day. Today I volunteer. Today I turn is the start of something new. _I thought to myself.

I get ready for the reaping. I clean up the training room, slip on a white shirt, black pants, a sleek belt, and my father's token; a hammer pin. I look into the mirror, confidence shining on my face. I'm glowing. I am all ready for today.

Our Capitol escort, Dominique is all peppy as usual. Her green skin, purple dress, sparkling, earrings, and glittering, red high heel are the usual for the reaping day. We get in our groups with the same people as before. I miss Daven though; he was killed in the 97th Hunger Games, by District 1. He was stabbed in his sleep. I shake away the thought, and get back into concentration. I must volunteer before anyone else even gets a chance.

Suddenly, the reaping starts. All the boring stuff happens. I block it all out. Now, it's time to draw the tributes. Ugh. A girl I met in the training room, Angel Crest apparently. I just smirk at her. She shoots me a dirty look. I just wait for the moment of truth.

"Now for the boys!" Dominiqe yells into the mic.

She closes her eyes and snatches a card from the big, clear bowl. The white slip could hold my fate, or some other scrawny kid's name.

Dominique has an anxious look on her face. It makes me worried.

"Dagger Fannlin!" Dominique shouts.

"I volun- I mean I'm here!" I say in a loud voice.

_No one wants to volunteer _I think to myself.

"So this year's tributes from District 2, Angel Crest and Dagger Fannlin!"

I stare at Angel for only a moment, then stare at my feet. She's so pretty. Her dark hair pale skin, and brown eyes. Too bad I'll have to kill her.


	3. District Four Reapings: Fearful

DISTRICT 4

CHAPTER 1: THE REAPING

CAMILLE POV

I woke up this morning by my dog, LuLu. She's giving me all these kisses. She's usually excited every morning. When I tell her to stop I look into those brown puppy dog eyes, so cute! So I get out of bed and give her a treat. "LuLu, I got your favorite!" I say. LuLu comes running over. "Sit." She obeys me as usual. I give her the treat. "Good girl LuLu!" She keeps jumping around everywhere until I lay back in bed she jumps up with me and lays by my feet. I fall back a sleep for about thirty minutes until I hear my mom's voice, "Camille! Come down for breakfast!" When my mom says that I realize it's the day of the Reaping! She always makes breakfast on this day because if I got chosen for the Hunger Games, she would want us to have a big breakfast just in case I die. In District Four, we no longer just volunteer to be a tribute in the Hunger Game's now since after the Dark Days. That is because Finnick and Annie were against the Capitol. The Capitol is against our District now, we have not gained their favor of trust. The people who want to die volunteer, but usually no one does.

I run down stairs not making a single noise with my dolphin slippers on. "Good morning mom", I say. "Good morning Camille, I made your favorite! A waffle with maple syrup and bacon on the side!" It is my favorite. Even thought it isn't from district four. "Thanks mom", I say with a smile. I sit down at the table and eat. The waffle is really good! And the bacon melts in my mouth. I chugged down my milk very quickly so I had to get another glass. Breakfast was really good, I would have more but I'm full now. I realize there was not much talk at the table though, so I lose my cheeriness. There usually isn't any talk on the day of the Reaping. It's like a day of nightmares. My father died in the Hunger Games while my mother was pregnant with me. I never met him before but I heard he was in the final five. District 6 killed him. That is why I want to kill them first if I get chosen.

When I'm done my breakfast I bring my plate and put them in the sink and clean them. "Thanks mom", I say. She smiles and says, "Now you go get ready. Your dress is hanging in your closet." I run upstairs and give LuLu a piece of bacon I took from the kitchen. I run to the bathroom after that to take a shower. I put on my shampoo that smells like the ocean. When I'm done washing up I brush my teeth. My teeth are so white my dentist says I could be a teeth model if I wanted to. I run to my room and do my hair in two fishtail braids. When I'm done my hair, I put on the silky sea green dress that was hanging on the door, and slip on my matching flip-flops. I look in the mirror at my pretty blue eyes, my blonde hair, and my white teeth. I realize I'm forgetting something. My seashell necklace that my dad gave my mom before the Hunger Games he was in and my mom gave to me. I take it out of my shell (known as my jewelry box) and put it around my neck. There. Now I look perfect. I give LuLu a kiss and run downstairs to meet my mom. "Ready!'' We walk out there door and head to the justice building which is located on the beach.

When we arrive I give my mom a hug and so to the check in spot. They put the needle in my finger and someone takes me over to the spot were the 13-year-olds are at. It's a small group of girls, about a dozen girls at most. I look around and I see my best-friend Amaya. She's in the 15-year-old area. She just turned 15. She's really, really pretty. I wave to her but she doesn't see me. I spotted her because her really blonde hair. You could spot her from a mile away because her hair. The mayor comes up and gives the speech, "Welcome to the Reapings for the 98th Hunger Games...", blah blah blah all that stuff, he shows the video and right now I'm in my own little land hoping its not me or Amaya who gets picked. If they call out Amaya's name I would volunteer. I know she's really strong but I don't want her to die because all those people in there. Some strong, weak, smart, clever. District 1 and 2 is the worst. They always have the strongest tributes. District 4 usually tries to stay away from them. When the mayor is done talking, Ember walks on the stage. She's an original Capitol person. Light purple skin, dark purple hair down in a crazy braid that is 2 feet long, purple eyes, her purple dress, and purple heels and the heel is 1foot tall. I'm guessing her favorite color is purple. "Hello everyone and welcome to the Reaping of the 98th Hunger Games!'' she says. "Ladies first." She walks over to a bowl that looks like it came from the pet store because it's an oversized fish bowl. She pulls out a slip of paper and walks over to the podium. She reads it and says, "This years 'lucky' lady tribute will be..." I'm shaking with fear now. "Camille Avalon!"

I turn red, forehead to chin. I walk up, slowly. "Any volunteers?" says Ember. No one volunteered. "Well okay then." I reach the stage and I look at the crowd. I find Amaya in the crowd looking guilty that she didn't volunteer. I'm happy she didn't. I find my mom crying, though. I feel horrible. "And how old are you Camille?" says Ember. "I'm 13" I say. "Oh, a young one this year! Camille Avalon everyone! Boys next."

Nolan's pov

The sand feels so good between my toes. The warmth of my older sister, Carrie, next to me is great. The morning breeze is in the air. The view of the sun rising could be my last. Today is the Reaping. It's likely I could be chosen. My name is in there a lot. That is because they made a mistake. I'm happy Carries is 19 and last year was her last Reaping and she never got chosen. I get up after an hour has passed and go in the water with Carrie. We surf. That's what we love doing. Surfing. Swimming. Running. It's the sports we do. We both play guitar, too. After we get out we eat our breakfast we packed. Toast with jelly on it. This is traditional. Carrie and I go on the beach before every Reaping. We usually get up late around 10:00am. But its 7:15. When we set down our blanket to eat I look into Carrie's sea green eyes. Her dirty blonde hair is blowing in the wind. I look at her plucked brown eyebrows. Her tan she got from laying on the beach. She looks at me back. My sky blue eyes. Blonde hair. And my tan. That's me. We talk about my strategy if I get picked for the games. Carrie has experience. She was in the Hunger Games when she was 17. I'm only 14. "If you get picked you should be a fighter. If your mentor tells you to stay back fight. You might have times where you have to stay back though. If there's really strong 18-year-olds or something like that. But swimming and running is your strength. It was mine, too." says Carrie. "Here take this" she gives me a rope bracelet she made out of tan string. "I know it's most likely you won't be picked though but keep it to always remember me and have me with you." I smile and say "Thanks Car." I give her a hug. We finish our breakfast and clean up.

When we get home I go straight to the shower. I shower off all the sand that is on me. I use soap to get off the salt-water smell. When I get out I put on my navy blue collar shirt and my tan shorts. I brush my hair to the side. I get on my socks and sneakers. Put on my bracelet Carrie gave me. Run downstairs and Carrie and I are out the door and head to the beach.

When we arrive there are a lot of people. I give Carrie a hug and check in. A person leads me over to the 14-year-old area. I stand next to my friend Chris but we only say hi. Ember comes on and does all the stuff with the video and all that. She announces the girl tribute who is 13, Camille Avalon. She is kinda cute, I think, looking at her blonde hair. I don't know if she would be my type though. I think she use to like me. We were on the same swim team together. We never talked. When Ember says "boys next" she walks over and picks out a name. That name is Nolan Green. Me. Me. Me! I think to myself, how? I walk up on stage holding in the tears to show that district 4 has a strong tribute. I say "I'm 14-years-old." "Great another younger one!" says Ember. "This years two tributes Camille and Nolan!" Everyone looks at us. My sister is frowning as well holding in her tears. Me and Camille look at each other. Don't say a single word.


	4. District 5 Reapings: Unexpected

Monica R.

District 5

Mari Tailor's POV

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm perfect. I'm not bragging, it's just…true. Sure my math and science grades could be higher and my history and English grades aren't the best, but still I'm perfect. My black hair sits just the right way and my beautiful blue eyes could make any man get down on his knees and beg me to go on a date with him. Not only do I have perfect looks, a perfect personality, and perfect ambitions, I have a perfect life too. Well, near perfect.

The perfect life would be to live in the Capitol, but unfortunately I live in the damp, stinky, smelly, disgusting, horrifying District 5. And every year we had to send 24 kids into the demeaning Hunger Games. But besides that life was good. My dad is the richest man in District 5 besides the mayor and Peacekeepers. I always live in style. I get direct clothing shipments from District 8 and we got the finest food from District 4, 9, 10, and 11. I have everything I need to lead the perfect life.

Unfortunately it's all about to change. Today we have the Reaping where one boy and one girl will have to be chosen to enter the Hunger Games. I began to walk to the Reaping. My father and mother would meet me there and then in an hour we would be back home again.

As I walked through District 5 I stared at the factories producing disgusting waste which gives us power. District 5 is the power district so we are in charge of supplying the Capitol and all the districts with power. Of course where that power goes is up to the Capitol. I have heard that sometimes the outlying district don't get power for the whole day. We probably wouldn't either if we didn't supply it.

I also see the wind farm where we harvest wind for even more power. The wind farm has been my favorite place to go ever since I was a little girl. I love to see the long powerful wind turbines spin around as they harness the power of the wind.

I finally reach the town square and take my place in between the other 14 year-olds. After waiting for five minutes Onyx Whitehood walks up to the front of the stage.

"Hello and welcome to the District 5 reaping for the 98th Hunger Games," Onyx begins. She has the oddest appearance with her bright green hair and skin that's a bluish color. She begins to and the Treaty of Treason and I zone out. Finally it's time to draw the girl's names.

Onyx pulls out a small slip. Onyx begins, "And the girl name is…"

Phoenix Ride's POV

Once when I was working I fell from the roof and broke both my legs and my back bone. The pain was nothing compared to the way I felt when they read the boys names.

"Phoenix Ride," they had called as if it as the name of a dead man. Which to be honest probably was.

I was not only worried about my own life, but of the girl tribute's as well. Normally I didn't pay attention to who the girl tribute is, but when I heard them call Mari Tailor's name I almost screamed. Now the only for me to survive is to kill Mari and vice-versa. Great. I walk up to the stage and I listen to the national anthem. I know I'm going to miss District 5. But if all goes well I will see District 5 again. All I can do is hope.

Mari Tailor's POV

When they call my name I walk up to the stage scared as can be. I know nothing about killing, nothing about survival. No way can I make it out alive. All I can do is hope. The boy tribute, Phoenix Ride, seems scared too, but if it came down to the two of us he could kill me, easily.

My parents stare at me, worried as can be. I know there is only one option. To run. I run from the stage and begin to head toward the path to home. I actually make it pretty far too. Perfect speed. But the Peacekeepers stop me before I set foot on the path. They hold me down as I scream. I'm forced to shake hand with Phoenix and we walk toward our fate.

Phoenix Ride's POV

I think back to this morning where I had promised my younger siblings I wouldn't get reaped. How wrong I was when I said that. My name was only in there twice, yet still I had managed to be reaped. I stare out at my three younger siblings. Marco, Rorence, and Meco. They, like me, all have bright red hair, deep brown eyes, and a cunning, smart look to them. Our great-aunt Monica was in the 74th Hunger Games. She died when she ate some nightlock berries. Unfortunately our family is constantly insulted because of her. Not that she died or that she went into the Hunger Games, it was something she couldn't control. She had some fox-like features and Katniss Everdeen, the one who started the stupid second rebellion nick-named her Foxface. To be honest we still have some fox-like features passed down in the family. Her brother was my grandpa so we're related.

When the anthem ends I see Mari rush off the stage. She's trying to run home I realize. The Peacekeepers drag her down and she is forced to shake hands with me. I feel her warmth spreading across my cold fingers. I smile at her but all she does is frown, yet it is the most beautiful frown I have ever seen. Then we are pulled away and we walk toward the Justice building where we will talk to our families and friends who have come to say good-bye. I stare at Mari as we are forced into the unforgiving Justice building.


	5. District Six Reapings: Siblings

District 6 Reapings

Megs F.

Staria's POV

I drew across the board slowly with the dark charcoal gripped deeply in her hand, adding the a few touches to the girl's awkward nose. I use the edge of my finger to slowly smudge the surrounding area, turning it into something real. Turning it into something that could take a place in our world. Her profile really takes shape as soon as I smudge the dark line of black into grey in her collarbone.

The girl stares into the room with an intensity that I had remembered her starting with. Her soft curls lay carefully on her shoulders, and cast a few shadows on a light dress. She was just another picture to put into her collections, of black and white hand-drawn charcoal drawings. Only black-and-white, though, never made with the colored pastels her brother had bought I last year on her birthday, never taking the time to get the right colors. And, if I used colors, that would take the goodness of the picture away, wouldn't it?

Other people called it a talent. But it was my choice to use the freedom that I had in these cheap boards, my choice to draw with leftover rocks of this drawing utensil that I've found over the years fallen next to those complex trains and planes of ours, that should've been gas. This is how I've made my own living ever since mother died, selling my complex drawings and making caricatures out of others to men and women that visited very so often from the Capitol. In fact, my brother and I seemed to live along just fine with our own odd jobs, living in this shabby shack that seemed impressive with the fact that we built it with our own hands. We just had a way with business.

And today, the Reaping day, I can sell many portraits to the few Capitol people that are visiting at District 6. I know that our Capitol escort, Izare is a sucker for these beauties. Last year, she bought a few dozen, and my brother and I had a feast that night, with so much more than we needed to spare, that we fixed up a few boards to our house.

This is my last year eligible, so next year, I just might sell even more. I smile and get ready for the Reaping, slipping on a very simple purple dress that she had gotten from her mother's closet, who had died two years ago in the same house. It had much meaning, from her mother who also had such an odd talent, making clothes. It was the dress she had last woven carefully, with different strands of purple yarn. Made of all colors, from lavender to a dark plum. Made of all different textures, from scratchy strands, to baby soft. I love the feel of it, why not wear it?

By the time Karon and I get to the District 6 reaping place, Peacekeepers are just starting to close up their check-in books, so we make it just in time. Karon splits off to the 16-year olds section, and I take my place next to several other girls in our little pen.

Looking up, I see Izare with her unnaturally long fingernails, waving at me with a twinkly smile. I laugh, and give her a thumbs up as a compliment. Her carefully plucked Anastasia-eyebrows shoot up in thanks.

Though they shared a quiet moment, Izare wasted no time to run over towards the glass ball. I start to gather up just a few simple paintings, and look down to decide which one looked best. Izare then speaks in her Russian accent: "Zee tribute for zhe girls vill be…" Izare picked a slip of paper from the large glass ball with her nails, and apon reading it, her face fell. Her face was drained of color, and she looked slightly panicked. "Staria Orlando." That was me.

No wonder she had looked that way. But then, why hadn't she just lied? Oh yes, those giant Peacekeepers hovering over her shoulder itching to see who was the unlucky new corpse of District 6. There is no time for the feelings I watch other tributes show off, so I just walk up there, not really scared at all. But I have this nagging feeling that something worse is going to happen… Maybe that I will be killed in the arena, but that's just not it. It's different, and I feel it's going to happen.

When I'm up on the stage, I'm trying to think, why am I feeling this way? Izare eyes me with surprise. I guess she thought us District 6 people don't have any toughness in them. I bet she thought I would burst out into tears like she was about to. Though I wasn't scared to face the challenge, that hundreds of other people have faced, I can't help but allow my body to shut down itself accordingly. I couldn't hear anything Izare was saying as she picked the boy's tributes paper.

Everything was slightly hazy, until I shook my head, and threw my hair back behind my ear. I could see the boy tribute, and a feeling hit me. It's like a time when you see something, fully expecting it to be something else. Instead, this thing is so familiar, it surprises you. I knew who this boy was, and the realization of how much I knew him practically made me laugh. I couldn't help but run into his arms, and envelope myself into him, even though he was younger than me. Each of his features were only too familiar.

Izare sighs in the blissfulness of our scene, and I know this must be a crowd-hitter in the Capitol, the perfectness of it all.

For when I look up into the same grayish eyes that have the same flecks of gold in it that I have, I will remember this moment on and on. This is the reason that we will be popular in the Capitol right now. I can practically hear the sighs and 'Awwws from those crazy green faces, in their Capitol accent. It has touched everyone's hearts to see us rejoice in this time of hate.

I am looking into the beautiful, curved eyes of my very own brother.

Karon's POV

Tears form in my eyes, and I feel like bursting as I see my own sister, quiet and composed as she walks up to the stage with a hint of determination. She looks quite happy actually, like it was just a part of life. Maybe, in her sick, twisted mind, she actually does think that way. She always has a reason, one that will stick to her head. For example, I know she will not try to accept a tribute token to bring into the arena. She will think, that with the token, there is a chance of coming back to District 6 again.

But it was true. With a token, you must have hope, and I know for one she has lots of hope. This is how I know she will accept the token I will give her. She just looks at life as a different way than I do. Another way she just seems to think differently from the rest of us is because she always wouldn't include something in her pictures. Especially the color. I bought her the pastels last year with extra money, and what did she do? She throws it in the back of her closet without a thought. She says the color makes it too realistic, she couldn't do that. Not only that, sometimes, she doesn't include something, she'd draw the head not the body, or a bird with no wings, or even homeless dogs that we spot without legs.

I ask her why she would do this: She explains to me this as if it was the most simple thing possible to understand: "Let's look at this bird," she would point at the beautiful bird with no wings. She looks at it intensely, then would say; "If this bird had wings, it would fly away. If it was colored, it won't be able to soar through its own skies with it's own freedom. If it was colored, the sky would always be blue, and it would not be able to experience its own sky of purple, of orange, black, and blue."

Now I wish I could blame her for doing this, for letting herself look normal in this horrible time. But if there was any time to blame her, it couldn't be now. Now there was only one choice, for me to volunteer in the boys place. I watch Izare, and see that she is watching me. When she sees me catch her eye, she only gives a wink and reaches into the boys ball. Huh?

When she gets a slip, she reads out firmly: "Karon Orlando." Now I get it. She's done this on purpose. Given us a chance to protect each other, given us the chance to be liked forever in the face of the Capital, to hold each other, with so many sponsors without even a small trip to the Capital already. I race up the stage, not having to act happily, for I am as jumpy as a rabbit to race myself into her loving arms and let the Capital see just how strong us District 6 people are.

I step up on the plate, with my snug moccasins that I've gotten from mother's closet. I'm glad Staria still doesn't notice me. This is will be so meaningful to her. Somehow I think I can share Staria's feelings now. I can hear her thoughts… that we should remain calm. That this has happened to so many other people, that it wouldn't be proper to be so selfish of ourselves. We're lucky enough to be stuck together now.

When Staria finally spots me with her blank, grey eyes, the specks of gold light up slightly. She is still eyeing me. Like I look like a stranger. Like she's never met me in her entire life as my sister. When she finally notices me, though, she walks up confused, a few steps, then runs directly into my open arms that I enclose her with.

I wonder if this is what it feels like to be an older brother. The responsibility was a good feeling, like he could take control for a while. I hear sighs in the audience, and little gasps too. Izare was smart. Maybe one of the smartest people we have every met! I bet there are already lines of people already that want to help us in the arena.

I squeeze Staria tighter, and we stay composed like this silently, with tears that we will not let go through our eyes, because that will show us as weak. And I think we are aiming not to do this already. But then, I look up to see Izare watching us with careful cat-like darting eyes. I'm thankful for her doing this, I am. But now I realize the mistake. If the Capital were to figure out that Izare had done this on purpose, there's no telling what they would do to her.

Now just hoping that this moment would last forever, I deepen Staria in, but she just flinches out. Maybe she's noticed the problem too, now.

Izare yells above the shushed voices, "I welcome to you all, the two tributse of District 6, Staria and Karon Orlando!" She smiles dazzlingly, and I need to thank her as soon as possible for being such a good liar. Haha.

Now, we're waiting in the rooms, and nobody comes to visit. Not-a-one! So I ask permission to leave, and come to Staria's room. She is sitting there with a blank stare and she barely notices me. "I brought you this," I say, and give her a notepad. There are no lines on it, just how she like it. With white paper that has specks of tree chips still in it like she likes it. With crisp thick paper, that she liked to bend, slightly canvas-like. There are many pages in it, with a pen slipped through the rings.

She accepts it and I know she will try to draw every moment of her life on the way to the arena, and in. She's just like that.


	6. District 7 Reapings: A Fighting Chance

A Fighting Chance

Distrct 7

Luna's POV

Rachel D.

Luna woke up early in the morning. She was having nightmares of the Hunger Games. Watching past years, picturing her being in that position. She couldn't imagine what it would be like, to be in the arena. The fear, the hunger, the having to watch your back with every step you take because death might just be behind that tree.

Luna shook her head, clearing it of those thoughts. She was only thirteen years old; her name was in the bowl only twice, twice out of ten thousand it wasn't likely her only slip being pulled out of that bowl.

Luna walked out of her room and into the kitchen. There her dad was making breakfast. Since it was the day of the reaping, most of the workers scheduled to work in the lumberyard were off duty.

"I made a special breakfast for you today," her dad explained, "just in case it is going to be your last." Luna winced at the thought; even her dad was expecting her to be picked. It couldn't happen, no no, she was two out of ten thousand, she told herself again. Luna kept repeating that to herself until it was time to walk onto the town square for the official reaping. Kids at her school mocked the reaping by playing their own games, putting names on a table and picking one boy, and one girl then laughing at who they picked. But of course, they were the white-faced ones at the official reaping.

Luna was due at town in fifteen minutes. This reaping was scheduled earlier this year then normal. As early as Luna woke up, she was still rushing to get presentable for the reaping. She didn't have very nice clothes, but she settled on a light blue dress with blue and white stripes on the torso.

Luna checked in at the town square and ran over to her also frightened friends in the roped off section for thirteen-year-old girls. Nobody said a word due to the fact that it was only their second year in the reaping and every single one of them had ghostly white faces.

"Welcome District 7, to the 98th annual Hunger Games!" cheered our district representative, Abail Heron. "Now I know that you all don't want to listen to a speech so lets get right to the action. Like always, ladies first," Without hesitation, Abail walked right over to the girl's bowl. The crowd went silent. You could hear the faint hum of the machines at the lumber yard on the complete other side of the district.

Abail dug her hand deep into the bowl to pick out a slip of paper. Luna tensed up and prayed that it wasn't her name on that was on that small sheet of paper.

"The tribute for the girls that will represent District 7 in the 98th annual Hunger Games will be…Luna Girald,"

Luna's stomach knotted at the sound of her name being called. She tried to move her arms and legs to walk to the stage, but her muscles would not obey. Luna didn't even have an older sister to volunteer for her like Primrose Everdeen had with Katniss. She was frozen in a trance, images playing over in her mind of all of the horrible deaths that could possibly happen to her. Luna stole a quick glance over to her parents, who were probably replaying the same images of what could happen to their wonderful daughter.

Slowly Luna got her act together and walked up to the stage.

"Cheers for our girl tribute, Luna Girald!" Abail yelled out to the crowd, but their was no clapping, the crowd did nothing, they were probably thinking of how a thirteen year old could win against tribute five years older than she was. The crowd was as silent as it was when Abail out her hand in the bowl.

Colton's POV

Sweat dripped down Colton's face as he chopped lumber. At age fifteen, he had forced to work in the lumberyard, chopping wood just to be sent off to the Capitol for some crazy person's apartment. Oh how he despised the Capitol. They made him become all bruised and broken even on a day as important as the reaping. Most of the workers were off duty, but the Peacekeepers forced him to work today. They said "we are already behind, so we need to get as much done today as possible." What scumbags, if they wanted things to get done, then why can't they get on their precious hands and knees and work themselves?

With the early reaping, Colton had to be at work even earlier, two o'clock AM he needed to be working, if he got picked, how do they expect him to be all pretty for the things later with the Capitol citizens?

Colton was on his fourth year at being a possible tribute and he hasn't been picked yet, so why would this year be any different. There was no way that he would be picked, the chances of being picked were slim, and he was too rich to be called form the bowl, he didn't need any teresserae and not needing teresserae meant that he didn't have any extra slips on the reaping bowl. Colton was safe, he just knew it.

But being safe still meant that he had to go. He still had to dress up nice and act like all of the wimps out there, scared that one of his four slips were going to be called.

Finally, the peacekeepers called him off duty to get all fancied up for a thing that certainly didn't involve him. But, he was glad to get off work, he would rather stand in the middle of town square listening to a bunch of idiots making the same speeches they hear every year then boiling in the hot sun at the lumberyard.

Colton walked the mile home and took a quick, cold shower. The shower felt like heaven after working for six hours baking in the sun. Colton quickly got dressed and made his way over to the town square.

Colton, just like everyone else, checked in and walked over to his roped off section for his age group. Everyone there was white-faced and immobile. _I guess that is how I should act too, _Colton thought. Colton fooled everyone, they all started to talk to him saying how he must have been so worried and afraid, well, Colton was a good actor, he had to do it every year_. _What wimps everyone was. It was like a one in ten thousand chance of being picked out of the bowl, cant they have a little self-confidence?

The district representative, Abail Heron, started to talk but all Colton heard was "Welcome blah blah blah," Then she proceeded to pick the girls tribute. Luna Girald, huh a little thirteen year old, too bad for her she probably wont even make it past the cornucopia.

"Now time for the boys!" Abail didn't even have to yell due to the silence of the crowd. Abail shuffled over to the bowl containing all of the names of the boys from ages twelve to eighteen. This time she picked a name that was right on the top.

Colton glanced around the scared faces of all of the boys and laughed inside of his head.

"Colton Shelkize," Colton looked around for the owner of the name to step forward before he realized that it was his own name that had been called. Now it was his turn to turn white like a ghost. He had been so confident that he wouldn't have been called that he didn't even consider that everyone had about the same slim chance that he did to be picked as tribute for the Hunger Games.

Just as Colton reached that stage the news finally sank in. He would be going up against tributes from District 1 that have been training their entire lives for this moment. Volunteering whenever they get the chance just fort he glory of standing over a poor boy like himself and decapitating them without any thought.

What was he going to do? Everybody else in that arena probably had some special hidden talent that they could use either to kill, or to avoid being killed. His talent extent only went as far as chopping wood and carving it.

Maybe he could carve a spear or some sort of weapon but he doubted that he would be able to use it in the correct way, plus, the Gamemakers usually have a variety of weapons that he could use, and they are probably better made than what he could create. Colton was doomed. The only person that he could probably have a chance at killing was Luna, but since they were from the same district, _if_ he won, then everyone would hate him for killing Luna.

"Cheers for our two tributes, Luna Girald and Colton Shelkize!" Abail cheered in the microphone but again there was no applause, everyone probably already knew that their district didn't even have a fighting chance at winning the Hunger Games.


	7. District 8 Reapings: Lost in Thought

DISTRICT 8

Nikki R.

Simone's pov

I'm screaming. Screaming for Abbey. My little sister was chosen for the Hunger Games. "I volunteer, I volunteer!" I scream. I finally wake up. That dream was the worst I could ever have. Especially for today. The Reaping. The day of many nightmares. Today is Abbey's first Reaping. She just turned 12 last week. I'm never nervous on the Reaping day, but this time I am. I doubt Abbey would be chosen anyway. And anyone would volunteer for her because she's one of the most loved in District 8. Nobody would want her in the Hunger Games. She's too weak.

I finally get out of bed after thinking about that dream. I put on my pink mini skirt and a white tank top. I put on my black heels. I walk over to look in the mirror. I look at my black curly hair and my hazel eyes. My dark skin. It's the color of the crust of bread. I put on my pin that is made of marble that has a pink S on it. I finally run downstairs to get breakfast. The first thing I see is my sister. Her first Reaping. She is wearing my first Reaping dress. It's red plaid and it comes down to her knees. She is wearing black mary-jane shoes. She looks like me. Hazel eyes, dark skin, and curly hair. She is also wearing my moms pearl necklace. "Good morning girls" says my mom. "Good morning mom" Abbey and I both say. "Here is breakfast for you girls." It's a pancake with blueberries. Scrapple on the side and orange juice. YUUUUUM. Abbey just eats away and I say "thanks mom." She acts like she didn't here anything. So I just eat. My dad walks down the stairs. "Good morning daddy", I say. "Good morning pumpkin and cupcake!" he says. That's what he calls us. I'm pumpkin and Abbey's cupcake.

After we're done eating me and Abbey kiss and hug my mom and dad and we walk to the Reaping. My mom and dad usually go after us so we don't talk. When we get there we check in, I kiss and hug Abbey and say "everything will be ok." She walks to the area with the 12-year-olds, while I find my way to the 17-year-old section. I see my ex-boyfriend Riley, but I avoid making eye contact. "Good afternoon everyone and welcome to District 8's 98th annual Hunger Game Reaping. As you know the Hunger Games started with the first dark days. And then came another Dark Days. I'm not going to show you the video this year because I forgot it with me" says the escort Kaya. She is very pretty. She has pale skin, green eyes, long smooth pink hair. She's really nice to. "Okay now we are going to start off with our lady tribute" she says in a cheerful voice. She goes over to the bowl the girls names are in and pulls out a piece of yellow paper. "Is Abbey Piper here?" Oh gosh.

Abbey walks up. Very slowly. No one bothers to volunteer. Everyone starts crying though. "WAIT STOP! I VOLUNTEER I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" I scream. Everyone looks at me. "Well then", says Kaya. "Looks like someone has volunteered." I walk up to the stage. Abbey starts crying, but she doesn't bother saying anything. I mouth to her I love you and she mouths you can't do this. But I look away and walk onto the stage. "My name is Simone Piper, I'm 18-years-old, and I volunteered because that was my little sister." I say into the microphone. "Thank you Simone." She walks over to the boys and that is when I burst into tears.

Katherine J

Castor Mryle

Sometimes the entire year passes by much too quickly. It's not much either. It's all just some school time, and work. There's lots and lots of work to be done when you're in District 8. You'd think it would be easy to be in this district of fabric, but no. The factories are titanic, but not nearly as big if you want to stuff about 3,000 people in there at a time. And it gets much to tedious. To watch a single string, and to loop every thread sent to you on a spool, then to pass that on is very annoying. When I got promoted, I got to move up to the step of weaving clothing, or rugs on a mill. It looked simple, and was easier on the eyes, but it was hard, very tiring work. I've yet to move up to the simplest of jobs, but apparently the most important, packaging boxes of this stuff on trucks to the Capitol. I could be good at this job. With years of pushing and pulling the little lever on the weaving mill, I have much experience with things like carrying heavy boxes. I've heard that men and women that are up in this step of the textile process can snag a few things from the boxes. They always seem to have more lavish things than us.

I think the Capitol purposely makes sure we always have work. Judging by the stories passed down from the last victor from District 8 has told us, they get anything with the touch of a button, whether it's food, or something called shampoo, in all different sorts. If they had such complex technology like that, I wonder why they didn't just make dozens of machines to do all this clothing work themselves. I know they could've. But they're just that stuck up about themselves sometimes. With all these little thoughts floating through my head, I just have to scowl to myself as I see the little clock on my bedside table shows me its 12:00 already. I would have to get to the opening for these damn reapings once more this year.

Finding the clean white button-up and black pants at the bottom of my bed, I put them on. With a quick bite of a smokey, district 8 kind-of bread, I race out the doorway with my feet only partly slipped into my shoes. I've no parents to take me there every year. No parents to make me breakfast before going to work. Nobody, but just myself to take care of this lifetime. I think they would've gone to District 1, and maybe when I'm finally 19, the sacred age, I can run away there, too.

My mind is constantly thinking, always wondering about something that isn't important. Maybe it would be ok, if I tried to change some things, but as I am only 15, it isn't possible. Thinking is the only way I can get myself to push through hard work, like at the factories, or running as fast as a squirrel to get the Reaping. The toes of my shoes are gone, and the bottoms flap on the solid ground when I take a step up. It's gruesome.

But when I finally reach the place, they let me check in just a little late, and put me into the 15-year olds section. Nobody waves to me. Not many friends are made when work is done in separate cubicles of the factory. When there's work, it is to be done. And work never stops 'til the end of the day.

Kaya is smiling slightly to the crowd, but she knows we hate this. There have been such people that aren't horribly modified, and I think Kaya would be one of them. With just dyed soft-pink hair, and a small tattoo of a peony flower on her arm, I could count her as one of the normal Capitals. She knows that it is cruel to watch kids die in the Hunger Games, for no reason whatsoever. I'm sure the Capital would fire her, but she has this silent charm. And oddly, our District 8 has had 3 victors in the past 23 years since the rebellion. Obviously, Kaya must have some sort of trick up her sleeve. It wasn't normal for such an outlying district like ours to have so many victors.

I am thinking as always, again, so I miss the girl tributes' name being called out. Though a cry out catches my attention as I see someone who looked like the smaller girl's sister volunteer for her. How sweet. But unfortunately, the Hunger Games isn't rated on sweetness. I think, how many times has my name been added to that oversized fish bowl? 4 times, since I'm 15. 2 more times, since I needed tesserae. It's not impossible for me to get picked, I can't look at things as if my chances are as close to slim, I really could be picked.

It must've been mind-reading when they actually called out my name a second later.

"Castor Myrle?" She called out with no Capital accent, just with the same curiousness. I turn beet red, and smile as I know why we would turn red, or as "white as a ghost." Our blood vessels constrict with the adrenalin of it all, causing less or more blood flowing through our bodies. So as I am thinking, I don't realize my feet shuffling up to the stage. She looks at me oddly, and I realize I am still smiling. Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if my mind keeps taking over.

I look the girl in the eye, and she looks at me sadly. I feel sympathetic, and hold her hand as we are forced to look into the cameras. She doesn't flinch away, like I know most girls would, and she grips me so tight I wonder if she's cut off my bloodstream. With this, they play the National Anthem, and Kaya hums a little, even though she knows it must be pure torture to us. When it is finally over, she and two of our past victors, Chicory and Domitia slightly pushing us into the Justice building.

I wait there in a plush chair and 10 minutes later, a little girl finally pushes open the door. I don't know her. I remember when I was 11, I went to meet the boy that was chosen for our district. It was just out of curiosity, I wanted to see what it looked like from the inside. When I was that young, it seemed like a bright, leathery and rich place. Now it seemed grim and dark. The boy four years ago died, and I had cried out in grief for our quick friendship. This girl was meeting me, like I had done unto that boy, maybe she will regret it when she sees me die on TV.

But she introduces herself as Abbey, a 12-year old girl that was the girl tribute's sister. That she was chosen, but then Simone had volunteered. I found it rather sweet.

Nonetheless, the little girl left, and I was left alone until a few Peacekeepers pulled me out to go to the trains. I board it with the girl, Simone, and the tears finally are let out from both of us when the doors shut close with a snap.


	8. District 3, 9, 10, and 11

Reapings Districts 3, 9, 10, and 11

President Venom

The screen played through itself, like a rabbit charging from one place to the other very closely, zooming in on crying faces or distressed escorts. They had only that choice to walk up slowly, to stare at the camera, probably cursing the Capital with all their hearts. The tributes of all the districts sure put an effect on me, and I watched as they filed up onto the stage with different expressions. I'm sure I could remember every name, Erie and Ebony the fierce. There was Dagger and Angel who also volunteered… there was the twins, the young 13-year old Luna from 7 and a reluctant Mari from 5. So far that had been 7 whole reapings, playing out on the wide-screen TV. So with still 5 more to watch, I laid back into the smooth suede couch, sinking into blissfulness.

Cassie stood up and cleared the coffee remains from the glass table, walking in clinking high heels away to the vast kitchen of this mansion. Somehow the heels stopped and Cassie walked back in a little later, with the coffee gone, but with a slight misfortune written upon her face. She looks at me with a face like a slant and says, "The head Gamekeeper's here to see you." I straighten up, suddenly more mature than usual and awaiting the face of Ms. Adayl. She walks in with a slight blue dress that flowed just around her waist and a scowl.

"Hello, Ms. Adayl. Sit down and have some tea (he snapped and heard Cassie's heels clinking away again) the woman sat down and tried to let her face turn into a smile." After a few torturing minutes, she still didn't say anything, yet took the TV remote off the glass table and turned up the volume. District 3 was finally on now, for they had a power outage (Wait what? They're District 3 right?) For whatever reason, Ms. Adayl suddenly laid slightly back with her elbow on the armrest. With someone as strict as Ms Adayl, even I, the president couldn't help but just get the shivers around her. She was very intimidating, and suddenly everything stood out to me. There were slight scratches in the couch where Caela, the genetically –engineered pet-like machine that stuck with me throughout the day. There was really no name for that kinda mutt yet, but the technology these days are tremendous, Caela did every bidding a pet they could do! There were also tiny scratches in the wall, the cookies crumbled, and the TV remote didn't work quite well, as Adayl might've noticed.

District 3 turned out to be having the largest storm I've ever seen, and I really did take pity on them. There were winds howling, even through the camera. Many things on stage like the screen where they should've played the national anthem weren't working. Instead, the Peacekeepers starting singing, expecting the kids of District 3 to join along. The Capital escort didn't show up so they stood longer then expected until the current past victor chose names from the reaping ball. Should being president really rely on the worst we can be? I mean, look at Adayl; she was rolling her eyes at the kids being chosen that tried to wrap a poor little scarf around them. She was just plain evil sometimes.

Nynette, a 15-year old girl gets chosen, along with a fairly young looking 14-year old Cyrano. Nynette looks to be a bit on the chubby side but her hair is a vibrant red. Cyrano is just very slight, yet I can just see through his shirt that he's a strong tribute, that he knows how to fight. I don't think they will last long, sadly. They have fair expressions of goodbye written across their faces.

My thoughts are still flowing by the time the rabbit races again and the screen turns black. In the next second, District 9 is showing, and they have just finished playing the national anthem of Panem. It has a lovely tune, it does. Coretta, a fierce looking 18-year old volunteers, as well as a Lowe, another tribute with a tough body.

The district 10 tributes flash by my eyes, I'm too distracted by… nothing. But I remember two small tributes perhaps of the same age. They were hugging after being picked and crying as the people in the crowd took pity on the youngsters. But Ms. Adayl was paying attention fairly well, making strange sounds which I comprehended as comments on the tributes of this year.

District 11 featured Forrest and Fawn, two 17-year olds with dark skin and had strong arms that almost left a hint of intimidation on Adayl. The boy sort of stared straight into the camera and it freaked me out. Just a bit.

There was no District 12 of course, considering it was blasted to smithereens about 20 years ago.

Before District 13 showed up, Adayl turned off the TV, and looked me straight in the eye. Not helping myself, as a foolish man who was made president, I made a kooky face towards Adayl as she rolled her eyes, yet laughed. I smiled and handed Adayl a cookie from the tray Cassie had brought over, unnoticed. She took it with a napkin, and I politely asked her why she didn't want to watch District 13.

Adayl made the kinda sideways slant with her mouth like Cassie did and then crossed her legs. Would she be here for a while? "You saw how strong those tributes from District 11 look?" she said. I had nodded and she started to rapidly talk. "Someone with power there has put those two children's names on every slip of paper into the glass bowls. Someone has added their names to the bowl so many times we couldn't have counted. I can't believe I let that kinda thing just go past me. They want one of the two children to win for their District.

"You mean, there was no chance they couldn't have gotten chosen?" She nodded to me this time and almost burst out into tears. I looked at her, surprised that such a strict woman could look so sad, so quickly. Standing up, I sat next to her on the couch. "No worries, Adayl, it'll make an interesting plot to our story."

"What do you mean?" she asked while wiping her face with the back of her hand. I handed her the box of tissues that were on the table, and she took it willingly and greedily from my hands. After many sniffles and fallen tears on the expensive couch, I decided to answer her.

"Well, if someone were to find out, what would happen? If another tribute were to find out, wouldn't they try to hold it against them? That would be sorta interesting right? They could threaten them with the fact, and our audience will know that it was actually allowed for them to do so." Adayl didn't say anything, though she continued to blow in a few tissues. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with what you did I think it was not your fault at all, don't go blaming it on yourself." So much like herself, she finally straightened up, and called for Cassie. She cleaned up all the tissues and thanked me for letting her join her to watch the reapings together. She stood once more, to leave this time, smiling that I had helped her out.

Before she left, I mentioned,"Hey, I was wondering, could I get a glimpse of the arena for this year?" She shook her head no and whispered that the arena was to be a surprise for me.


End file.
